


Love Has Been All Too Rare In Your Life

by lilyblush_17



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Multi, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyblush_17/pseuds/lilyblush_17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Mary-Margaret are separated during their portal jump adventure. Instead of being sent back to Storybrooke, Emma is thrown back into the Enchanted Forest in the past. The time before her parents were born. Forced to work alongside Captain Killian Jones and his scurvy crew, the group search out a portal back into her world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back again

**Author's Note:**

> Dialog from the original script, and no, I do not own Once Upon A Time.

Night fell over the enchanted forest. Sucking in a sharp breath Emma stuffed the compass into her pocket, eyes roaming around her surroundings. This couldn't be right, she realized with a frown. She'd just left through the portal, and lost Mary-Margaret in the middle of their jump... yeah, so that was a bit of a problem. It hadn't worked then. If she was back here and not back in Storybrooke where she was supposed to reunite with her son. The bigger question was; where exactly was Mary-Margaret then? Had she made it? If so, and a big probably because she wasn't a pessimist, she needed to find a way to reach her before Cora and Hook had gotten to Storybrooke and destroyed the town, and tell her she was alive. (something else blabla... sees something that has her realizing she traveled back in time. Cue next sentence.) The savior was back in the past. How she'd gotten here had been much of a blurred memory, and if she tried to think of it. She'd only harm herself. "Damn it!" Emma snapped. Biting her lip, she looked up from the tiles of the pavement and back to the village. Emma decided to let the pain that crept into her drop and allowed herself to savor the moment. The village was lit up by lanterns, glimmering in the moonlight. She slapped a hand to her forehead momentary. It was from his story book. 'Henry'. She failed to get them back to Storybrooke. She failed to get back to Henry. She was doing this all for him. And she failed. Emma's shoulders slumped in shame: She looked back at the village in awe. Had this been her's? Lost in thought she missed the slender form creep past her line of sight.  
And just like that, the moment disappeared. She turned to face the stranger.

A navy blue cloak clung to the form as it moved into the shadows, heading away from her. Judging by its movements, Emma figured it a woman, it had to be, for it most certain was not a man. 

She saw a strand of hair slip out of the cloak before the woman tucked it away. 

Being the arrogant ass that she was, Emma followed her. She considered the taverns as she passed, all the while keeping an eye out for the woman. Each tavern seemed dimmed and lighted, warm, comforting. Emma pursed her lips and read the large faint letters on the inn. 'No criminals.' 

The woman halted beside a dark tavern. 

Emma stopped as well, though more clumsy. 

In front of her the woman straightened up and looked from side to side.

She stilled, holding her breath. What was she doing? Why did she follow her? What made her do so in the first place? 

The woman slumped down again and turned as she walked up the steps of the tavern. Oblivious to the stiff blonde lingering in the background.

Once she opened it, Emma could here loud cheers of men coming from inside. Then her form disappeared inside as the tavern door shut behind her. Emma stood in her spot. It only occurred to her that the tavern or pub, hell whatever it was, was beside the dark and silent sea. "This is crazy," Emma muttered. Maybe she could check into the Inn for the night, and figure her shit out. 

The door to the tavern swung opened and drunk scoundrels tumbled out. Out yelling each other as they swayed from side to side, arms slung around each other. They then tripped and stumbled a bit more before face-planting into the cement. Not bothering to even move, they lay there.

Emma rolled her eyes, "Pathetic." She stepped over them and entered. The pub was warm and smelled of rum. She noticed drunk sailors, knights, bandits, thieves, and pirates. Her eyes drifted towards the woman she'd followed. 

Her gray eyes sparkled as she laughed at something a man whispered in her ear. 

She went straight to the pub.

"Care for something to drink, love?" The bartender asked. 

Emma cringed at the pet name, "Cider will do." 

"One cider coming right up!" 

She thanked him after he returned with her drink. 

The tavern door opened, and a group of noisy pirates entered. 

That wasn't what caught her attention. 

A familiar pirate strolled in laughing and clasping his hands.

"Ah, here we meet captain!" 

"Where's my beer?" 

Someone handed him a mug and he took a swig, "Cheers!" 

Her eyes met his before he turned away. She was about to call him, then remembered her manners, and sunk into her seat. He hadn't known her, not yet at least.

The said woman too admired him, her eyes glinted. 

Emma watched Ho-Killian, interact with others. 

He laid eyes on the, 'woman', excuse her if she didn't know her name. 

The woman returned his gaze a few times, and looked away, flustered. 'How cute'. Then. 'Stalker', She scolded herself, crossing her arms across her chest. 

Killian invited her over to his table. 

Which she accepted. 

Emma didn't know how long she'd been listening to their conversation, but it had been interrupted when a peasant stumbled into the tavern. 

"Milah!" He called.

She looked up at him, then away.

"Milah, " He motioned, "It's time to go."

"Good," Milah said,"So go." 

"Who's this?" Killian wondered, boredom dripping from his tone. 

"Ah, that's just no one. Just my husband." 

"Oh," his lips curled into a cruel smile, "Well he's a tad taller than you described." 

Emma had a sudden urge to defend the poor man; even if it was Rumplestiltskin, himself. 

Rumple begged, " Please, you have responsibilities." 

"You mean like being a man, and fighting in the ogre wars? Other wives became honored widows while I was lashed to the village coward." Milah spat, then sighed. "I need a break. Run home, Rumple. It's what you're good at." 

The Captain's eyes took in the poor beggar's form. 

"Mama?" 

Emma started at a small childlike voice, then located the source of it. A small boy with messy brown hair and the biggest eyes stood, clutching onto something. He must'v been no older than Henry. 

"Bae," Rumple cupped the child's shoulder, "You were supposed to wait outside, son."

Milah's smile faltered, and she was up grabbing her cloak and leading Bae out.

Rumple hurried after them. 

Killian frowned at their retreating forms. 

She got up, dropping a few coins, and left. She could think of a few dozen reasons for them to be happy, but she didn't. Her number one priority was finding a way back to her family. Emma shivered against the cold, stopping. Where had she last seen the inn? Sucking in a breath, she turned to go. Sad to say, it was of wrong timing. She stumbled back, and heard someone instantly curse. 

"What the hell!" 

"So sorry." 

Wait...That voice. No, no, no! Oh dear god no! Her head snapped up to meet a pair of ocean blue eyes. This could not be happening. 

There he stood, half-propped against the door, arms crossed over his chest, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine." She replied, tired and frustrated.

"Any way to make it up m'lady?" 

She sighed, feeling the fight leave her and exhaustion take over. "Take me to the nearest inn." Emma said. 

His brows rose further.

She shot him a pointed look, "Not like that. I mean, take me to the nearest inn. I want to go to sleep. You know what? Never mind. Hell to that. I'll find the inn on my own!" Emma shoved past him. 

"Lass?" 

"What!" 

He blinked, making a innocent gesture, "Inn's that way."

"I knew that," She said through gritted teeth, walking past him again. 

"No you didn't." 

"Shut up." 

He smiled, " You haven't even told me your name!" 

"What fun would that be?" Her voice wavered through the night air, and then she was gone. 

Fiery little lass, wasn't she now? He turned and sauntered back into the tavern.


	2. Places We Don't Want to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short and late chapter. I was just rlly rlly lazy.

Despite imagining it the best idea at the time, fate seemed unfortunate enough to allow her rest; as soon as her head hit the pillow, thoughts of Cora and her family ran through her mind. She tossed and turned into the night; only finally falling asleep at the crack of dawn.  
A loud and rather obnoxious knock startled her out of her slumber, sending her to the floor with a small startled cry. She scrambled up towards the door, pulling on her jacket, and yanked it open, “What?” She stared down a short man nervously wringing his hat.  
"Sorry to deprive you of yer sleep, miss. But he wanted me to give you this."  
He? Who's he?  
Emma opened her mouth to pester him, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, placing a note into her hand.  
"G'day m'lady." With a wave, he turned on his heel and fled.

"Nice to meet you too." Emma grumbled, shutting the door behind her, pressing her back against the wood, and read the note.  
Come to my vessel. There's something you must know. -Killian Jones.  
She scoffed, crumbling up note and stuffing it into her pocket, and stepped towards the window drawing back the curtains.  
What was she supposed to do now? Carry out his request and go down to his ship? Hell no. The last thing Emma needed was to be abducted by a band of idiot pirates.  
Emma turned from the window, slipping into her boots, and left the room.  
A soft breeze tugged at her gold curls. All of Emma's instincts told her to run, but she stood where she was.  
You've come this far. A voice in her mind lilted.  
The markets were live with people passing through and carrying about with their lives.  
Stuffing her hands deep into her pockets and feeling the cool metal brush against her fingertips, she was relieved to find the compass still there. Safe and secured. She brushed through the crowds hit with different sights and smells until reaching port.  
Her eyes swept across, landing on a single docked ship. Because it bore the colors of a pirate; brown, yellow, red, and blue, she assummed it was his ship.  
A band of pirates walked up and down the plank loading and unloading cargo. While others swept across the deck trying to look useful, loud cheers and shouts coming from them.  
Emma stopped when she heard a voice above the rest.  
"On your feet for the Captain!"  
Edging closer to the ship, she could hear the shouts of men.  
Two men hauled a peasant up to his feet.  
"I-I remember you! From the bar!" He wobbled, pointing at a tall dark leather clad pirate. The Captain.  
Emma crept towards the plank, exposing herself to the Captain and the crew.  
"It's always nice to make an impression." He replied. His crew murmuring a chuckle.  
"Where are my manners," uncrossing his arms, he straightened up, "We haven't been formerly introduced. Killian Jones."  
She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist. Emma started to resist, but to no avail, the grip tightened lifting her up and dropped her beside the peasant.  
All eyes were strained on her now.  
"...Aboard my ship."  
If looks could kill her glare was definitely the deadliest.  
"What are you doing aboard my ship?" Killian repeated, now ignoring the small man beside her.  
"You sent for me."  
"Aye," He nodded, his expression blank, "That I did."  
Before she could register, cold hands were closing around her wrists, forcing her to her feet. She got a brief glimpse at a pair of old scruffy men behind her.  
"You sick bastard! Let me go!" Emma's glare deepened as they dragged her away.  
He ignored her request, simply glancing back down at the small man again.  
"You have my wife..." He reasoned.  
"I've had many man's wife."  
Another chuckle erupted among the crew. Their voices trailed off to something Emma couldn't quite catch as the two dragged her below deck and shoved her into a cramped room.  
"The Captain will speak to ye shortly." One informed her in a gruff voice slamming the door shut. Locks sliding into place.  
Behind the door, their angry voices faded away.  
Emma was left alone in silence until the locks turned again. The door opened and the Captain stepped inside, "Not quite the introductions," He glanced her way. "No." Her gaze followed him. "Let me go."  
The Captain abruptly halted, stiff and shoulders tense, his back facing her. "I'm afraid I cannot, my dear."

Feeling anger rise inside of her, Emma clutched her hands into fists, gritting through clenched teeth. "Let. Me. Go. Hook." Killian turned around, his eyes hardening. "What?"  
She was about to make a snarky response when a sudden pain jolted her and rippled through her body. Emma reached out clutching her side. She dropped to her knees in agony.  
"Bloody hell!" Emma saw him shuffle across the room and catch her before her head hit the floor.  
"Weigh anchor! Weigh anchor! Fight back mates!" She could muster him call out into the hallway. The last thing she saw before her world darkened were a pair of haunting blue eyes. Time's running out...  
Time's running out...  
Time's running out...  
Something near her whispered.  
Darkness. Emma was surrounded by endless darkness. She looked to and fro.  
"Where the hell am I?"  
Silence.  
"Ok...Well that was useful."  
'Your only hope of getting back has fallen into the wrong hands. Get it back before your time runs out.;  
What the actual fuck?  
Before she could pester, the ground around her disappeared and sent her falling through a pit of darkness.  
Emma jolted awake, hissing in pain, and struggled to sit up.  
"Easy there." A woman hovered above her, her dark curls bouncing.  
"Where am I?"  
"The Jolly Roger." The woman said, raising her brows and resting her hands on her hips.  
"I'm well aware of that. What the hell happened?" She frowned.  
"You were hit and there was an invasion." Her eyes darkened as she spoke, "Lucky for you, I got the arrow out in time. You'll be fine. How are you feeling?"  
"Like crap." She grumbled, rubbing the back of her neck.  
The woman shoved a bowl of water into her hands instructing her to drink.  
Emma considered the woman closely.  
She was wearing garment appropriate for Misthaven, her gray eyes gentle.  
"Thank you." Emma swallowed the liquid feeling a tange of bitterness trickle down her throat.  
Propping herself up with her elbows, she slid her legs off of the bed and sat up, her ribs sore.  
"Steady!" The woman placed a hand on one of her shoulders, gently pushing her down, "You need to rest."  
"I've faced worse. I'm fine." She shrugged her off, standing up, and limped out of the room.  
She shaded her eyes from the blazing sun, walking towards the rail, and... found water stretching out in all directions. No ports, no land in sight. Nothing.  
No.  
"No, no, no, no!" Emma started feeling for her compass— to find it gone.  
Eyes widening, she let go of the railing turning on her heel, "Jones!"  
The Captain was standing at the helm with a far away look on his face, but moved at the commotion, his blue eyes resting on the blonde, a single brow raised, "Aye?”  
"My compass, if you please."  
He blinked, his brows scrunched together, "What compass?"  
"Don't play stupid with me! I know you have it!”  
"I don't!"

She jabbed a finger at his chest. "Then where is it?”  
"How the devil do I know? Now shut your bloody trap before I send you to the brig!”  
Emma curled her hands into fists, throwing him a final glare, and went below deck.  
"Killian...You could have been a little nicer to her." Milah warned, giving him a pointed look.  
He gritted inaudibly under his breath, following her.  
Three and a half loud bangs later, the door swung open and revealed a flushed blonde. "WHAT?"  
"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"  
"GREAT."  
"GOOD."  
"FINE." She slammed the door in his face.  
Killian grimaced, retreating to the upper decks.  
"I hope you're pleased," He drawled, sweeping into a mocking bow.  
Fighting back a smile, Milah resumed her duties.


	3. Pirates and trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I didn't feel like editing because I was lazy, so please don't mind how old this chapter is haha.

Emma let out an exasperated sigh and kicked her feet back, tilting her head upward.

The other hammocks lay unsettled before her. They rocked to the side, and with them a rythmatic pattern of creaks followed through the cramped, lifeless, room.

Her brows ceased. She was sure this room was ages older than her. If not, centuries.

"Welcome to the carribeans..."

The door gently opened. Emma rolled her head over.

It was Milah.

The woman was hesitant at first, but surely enough stepped into the room.

"How are ya feeling?" she asked; stepping over to her with a plate of fruits.

"I've had worse," Emma answered. She pulled herself up into a sitting position ( she found it infuriating.)

"Glad to see yer up 'n about." Milah said. She set the plate down upon her lap.

She eyed the fruit. "...thanks."

They fell into awkward silence.

"So..."Milah began; arms crossed over chest. "Judging from your décor, I gather you're not from around here?"

"Nope." Emma replied and slid her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm not even from this time...I wasn't supposed to be here to begin with."

"Oh."

She winced as she set the plate of fruits down upon the wooden floor.

"And the Captain? Not annoying you now, is he?"

"He's...interesting."

She stared at her, smiling. "Mind him, you. 'is not so bad once ya warm up to him."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Its true! He's actually...well..."she trailed off, sitting down.

Emma raised her brows. She rested her elbows upon her knees.

"You don't know the guy. You don't know what he is capable of, or what his motives are. He's done many things. Bad things."

"That isn't all true, Killian has a reputation, but I know him well enough. He is a Captain at that. He'll do what he must to keep his men in order."

"Lie, cheat, murder?" Emma countered.

The silence returned; their own breathing and the chants from above accompanied it.

"He's a good man. Lass, he has a heart. I believe he can change for the better." Milah acknowledged.

"He's a psycopath." Emma mumbled under her breath. "But do you love him? I mean, look around." Slowly she stood. "The guy's lurred us onto his..." Emma searched for the right word.

"Vessel."

"Right." She made a gesture.

"A story for another time...perhaps."

"Yeah, well," she turned her back to her, searching. "I don't do time lady."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Looking." she grunted a response. Emma crouched, scooped up a stack of books, then twisted around to her again.

She tilted her head to one side, pursing her delicate lips. "For what?"

"If we're to retrieve that compass, we'll need the information we can bargain for- a hand please?"

"I do not follow..."Milah said. She took the books away from her grasp.

Emma let out a huff. She straightened up and patted herself down. "As you've mentioned earlier...I'm not from this realm, thanks for asking. That compass-the one stolen from me. I'm not sure what to do with it but I have a guess that it will help me." She paced about with hand gestures. "I need answers. Real ones. And without it, I have no way of getting back." Emma stopped. "Unless..."she looked over.

"Unless what?" Her brows lowered.

"Would the Captain happen to know?" She stared at her.

Milah looked dumbfounded for a moment. She straightened her skirts. "I'll ask him...later." There was a pause.

Emma sighed, rubbing her temples. "That won't do me any good. I need to get ba-"

"Why is it so important?" Her question startled her into silence. Milah didn't mean to sound offensive. Genuinely curious.

"Excuse me?" Emma shot a you-can't-be-serious-look her way. Which the other woman idly ignored.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Mind my asking...but why is it important that you get home?"

She turned away, biting her lip. Emma let her eyes linger on the floor for a short period of time. She remembered her mother's fearful eyes as they were ripped away from each other. The deafening sound of the portal closing in on her. Mary-Margaret screaming her name. The darkness. The fear. And then her son's warm brown eyes, and the way they lit in excitement as she called him in for 'Operation Cobra'. Then she remembered Cora. Her menacing smile, dark eyes, repulsive and wild. No. Dread overcame her. They were in trouble! All of them! The town, her family, her friends, her son...oh god! Henry. She needed to get back! She needed to. Her son. What would she do with him?

Emma suddenly whipped around. Her eyes bulged.

Milah jerked in startle, taken aback.

"My son is in Storybrooke! He needs me."

"You have a son?" She stared at her in awe. For a moment, an uneasy shadow fell over her gaze. In a blink, it was gone.

She nodded in grimace. "The place where I'm from." Emma turned away to stare at a wall. She needed a plan. She needed a way off this damn ship. She needed help from the only person who would will it. She needed to find Rumplestiltskin. "We need to find-"

"Milah, I need yo-" a voice interrupted them. A door creaked open as the Captain himself poked his head in (the last person she wanted to see.) He paused, and stared at them both. "Was I interrupting something?" There was no doubt of curiosity in his gaze. But also genuine worry.

Emma looked away and Milah looked up with the sweetest smile. "Not at all, Captain. What may I assist you in today?"

"I want you to dine with me." Milah nodded and got up. "I hope you don't mind." She looked over at Emma with apology as she crossed the room.

The blonde looked back with a troubled smile. "Not at all, go ahead." Emma waved her hand around for emphasis.

Killian held the door open as the brunette brushed past him.

"Need something...captain?" She rose her brows. She felt his gaze pierce her.

"Go dine with the crew, after all-it would be a waste to dispose of that delicate body of yours. Cast into the sea. A waste indeed."

Emma sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want?"

"Oh, lass, is that anyway to talk to your Captain?" He smiled at her. Instead of teasing, it was cold.

"You're not my Captain."

He crossed the room and bent. "As long as you're on my ship, I make the demands. You follow them." His voice lowered to her ear, cold, just like the rest of the bastard. "Did I make myself clear, Swan?"

She remained silent.

"I said." Killian repeated, forcefully lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "Did I make myself clear?"

Emma glared at him. "Yes."

He searched her eyes for lies. Satisfied at last. Killian released her chin and straightened up; a smile plastered across his face, he schooled his features. "I'm glad we're both on the same page, love. Now be a good lass and go join the crew." He turned and left for the door. "Oh and Swan?" Killian looked back at her. "I do hope you get better." The door clicked shut.

She smiled menacingly at the door. Her hands closed into fists. Buddy, you have no idea what I am capable of.

Emma had a wonderful imagination of her throttling him in his sleep. The happiest day of her life.

She sighed. "Your wish is my command Captain." Emma replied to the air; tone mocking. She dragged herself across the room and out to join the rest of his lovely crew.

"How long have you been here?" she couldn't help but wonder to the old guy. Emma decided it was best to sit beside him after she'd dragged herself around the deck. Unsure for once. That and his 'lovely' crew weren't so friendly after all.

His name was Fiesel. At least that was her speculation...or was it Weasel?

She decided him the moment she laid eyes on him. "Eh...'is a while." He scratched his ear.

Emma rose her brows. "And you're not tired of this?" She set her bread back down on her plate.

"Nay." Fiesel chuckled. "I've been here fer too long to miss any of this."

She smiled and leaned back, a soft sigh escaping her. The view from the crow's nest was quite something. In truth, Emma decided to climb up here to escape the crew's annoying pester. That's when she stumbled upon him.

Pink clouds dotted the horizon where the sun had dipped behind them. It was growing late. The water turned dark as it sloshed and lapped gently in the still night. Rocking the ship. Below, lanterns covered the deck; lighting their faces with a warm glow. Jolly music danced about. Cheers filled their ears. A heavy scent of weak ale lingered in the air, tankards clinked. Was it always like this aboard a pirate ship?

"I've never come to miss this...thought bout leavin', often." His words rang her out of her thoughts.

"Oh?" Emma looked at him. "What changed your mind?"

There was a soft sigh. His face wrinkled as he narrowed his brows. For a short moment he stared into nothingness.

She immediately regretted asking him. "I'm sorry." She frowned. "I shouldn't have asked."

Fiesel smiled suddenly and brought his brows up, chuckling. His eyes danced in delight. "Not yer fault for askin' such an old lad as meself." He went on. "It was the Cap'n. A brave lad he is, took great care of me. I saw great potential in him. Ye should've seen 'im in battle. Took down ten on his own. Proud of 'im till this day."

"That's why you stayed." Emma finished for him. She gave him a knowing look.

"Aye." He rubbed his neck. "Like a son to me, he is. Even past all of his demeanor, I still see a child in him. The look in his eyes."

"What look?" She leaned in, curiously.

He stared out to sea sadly. "The look of a lost boy." Fiesel looked back at her with a smile. "Ain't he bad, lass."

Emma followed his gaze and bit her cheek. She heard enough of that today. A shame she could not agree.

"What about you?"

Her shoulders squared as she looked back at him.  
"Pardon?"

He tilted his head. "Lass, you've lost someone too. I see it in your eyes. Who was it?"

Emma's gut twisted. She stared out to sea again. Its lonely song called out to her. "He's not dead..."she started quietly. "Just lost, and I need to get back to him." The more she thought about the whole situation. The more determined she became.

"I hope you succeed." He understood her reason.

"Thank you." Emma managed a smile. It was near midnight now...was it? She could not tell.

"You best be going now, lass. Sleep it off, after all, ya need the rest." He echoed her thoughts.

"Thank you again, Fiesel. I hope to talk to you soon again. Sleep well." She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and climbed out of the crow's nest.

The deck had fallen silent. It made her wonder how long she'd been up there with him. Emma stretched her legs out and scanned the deck. It was dark, now that the lanterns were out. She was sure she was alone...so she thought.

"Lass?"

Emma jumped and whipped around, her heart thumped against her chest.

Milah rose her hands in surrender. She stepped out of the shadows. "Steady, 'is just me."

Her shoulders relaxed as she drew out a breath.

"You wanted to speak to me?" she inquired, and came to a halt.

"Right..." Emma scanned the deck again. She reached for her arm and pulled her closer. "You know when we reach the next port...so tell me."

Milah frowned and opened her mouth.

"She doesn't." A new voice cut her off, before she had a chance to speak. The scent of rum and sea filled the air. Killian stepped out of the shadows.

Emma froze.

"I was beginning to wonder where you went, Swan." He smiled and tipped his head in a slight nod. "Curious."

Her hand slowly dropped back to her side. She fell silent.

"Milah.."Killian's smile warmed to her, so he softly replied. "Go to my quarters, I will join you shortly."

Milah returned it and gave Emma a sympathetic look. She sauntered away and disappeared out of view.

"Now." His voice made her blood run cold. "What are you planning?"

She felt her anger boil. Emma closed her hands into fists. "I'm leaving this damn ship, Captain. Whether you like it or not."

His gaze darkened as he strode towards her. "No you aren't." Killian pushed her against the mast and pinned her. "What are you planning? Be honest with me."

"Fine. You want honesty? I'm going after that fucking compass! And you aren't going to do a damn thing to stop me."

His face was close to her's. She felt pure rage roll off his shoulders. "Are you bloody insane?"

Sigh...here goes nothing. "My son is in Storybrooke! He needs me! I AM getting back to him. And you AREN'T going to stop me." She growled. "I'm GOING to go see the Dark One."

Killian's jaw clenched, but his grip on her loosened. Regret shadowed his gaze. He looked down.

"Let me rephrase that." Emma glared at him and pushed his hand away. "I'm going to go see the only man who will help me. Rumplestiltskin."

His eyes locked onto her's again. Wide and puzzled.

Good. She thought with satisfaction. Let him figure it out on his own. Emma shoved his arm off and pushed past him. She went back below deck, and he never stopped her.


	4. Dreams and Pendants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's also pretty old.

Thunder split the dark sky. The Jolly Roger was nothing, but small compared to the brewing storm. Though as the Captain mentioned before...it would pull through.

Massive waves crashed upon the decks, rain pounded, sails were pulled.

Dark forms scurried around shouting out curses as they worked around their assigned commands. It was dangerous, for the rain soaked decks were hazardous. Even for the men. One slip would send a soul plummeting into her cold, livid, waters.

The sea goddess was angry.

She heard it in whispers from the crew. But they never dared to speak of it around the Captain.

Rumors of an ancient sea goddess still living in these very waters to this day spread through tales, sometimes through songs. Funny right?

Emma twisted and turned in her sleep. Her dreams were the same. Portals, compasses, hearts, Cora, Henry, her family, hearts being torn out, hearts crushed in front of her, falling, Cora pulling Henry's heart out.

There was a large jolt, and then Emma felt herself overturn and drop. Fear crossed her as pictures of Henry's eyes full of despair flicked through her mind. He cried out to her. She didn't get to him in time.

"No...no!"

"Easy, easy!" A voice hissed. A voice that pulled her out of her dark tendrils of sleep. Someone prodded her shoulders lightly.

Emma pulled away as her eyes flickered open.

"Easy now lass..."someone whispered back to her. It was dark. "Tis was only a dream." A hand rubbed her back in slow , smooth, circles. Relaxing, her shoulders dropped.

"Wha-" she started with startling frightened eyes. "What happened?"

Leather crinkled as he shifted. "Were hav'n a bad dream, lass." The voice hurt her ears. It came out gruff and far too fetched.

Emma merely whispered a soft 'thank you' as an offering hand pulled her up to stand. She squinted peering around through the dark quarters. Scuffling numbers of boots thudded above the crew quarters. Now it dawned upon her. They were alone.

"What happened?" she asked.

Emma rubbed her neck realizing how sore it felt.

She knew that sleep was useless now...even if she tried...there would be no way to dive back into her nightmares. Emma snorted at that prospect. No way was sleep going to do her good tonight. Even if she wanted it to. She couldn't go back there. 

A dismantled throat clear pulled her back to reality.

"You're requested above at once. Captain's orders." Now that the door was left ajar, a light flickered past it. Illuminating his shiny bald scalp and short scruff. Hollow black eyes blink back at her.

"What's going on?" Emma repeated.

He scratched his ear and shook his head. "No not I know...but I fear nothing good to come...nothing good ever does-now come!" He pulled her along before she could protest.

A door slammed behind them from afar. They hurried up the staircase and out to meet a harsh night.

Emma's body tensed. She found herself ducking her head away. Cold pellets of rain crashed down upon them all.

"To your stations you scurvy dogs!" To her left the Captain barked out his command stomping around the vessel.

They all were soaked to the bone; wet rats, he called them . Men slipped around the vessel losing their footing. colliding into each other, falling onto their behinds.

If on different circumstances, she found it ridiculously amusing. It was all Emma could do to contempt herself from falling into a fit of laughter there and now.

On the other note it was painfully sad to watch.

Waves crashed upon the decks, lightening crackled through the dark sky, thunder clasped.

Oh that damn sea goddess was angry alright.

"You! Why are you just standing there? Move your arse and make yourself useful!"

Emma shot Killian a furtive glare. Jaw clenching from the cold, she ignored him and moved across the deck. Her attire was not fit for these harsh conditions. She was sure the gods were laughing at her at the very moment for she managed to nearly lose her footing more than once.

"Why the fuck do they even clean these decks!" she hissed letting herself cling to the mast for dear life. Her whole body trembled as another sheer bucket of ice poured down upon her forcing her stiffen.

"Mr. Smee go a few notches right! See if you can steer clear of the storm!"

She felt his presence, rum, spice, and everything nice. Lovely.

"Will we pull through?" Smee yelled back.

Emma's grip tightened.

"The Jolly can whether any storm!" He laughed.

The Jolly Roger gave a violent jerk to one side in confirmation.

She felt the air knocked out of her as something(or someone) barreled into her. She was pinned against the mast exhaling sharply. That was going to bruise.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist holding her tight as the ship gave another jerk. They stumbled backwards.

A few seconds went by before everything stilled again. A few more went by before Emma began struggling against the grip.

"Steady now, lass." The feel of his scruff tickled her neck. Hot breath upon her ear. He released turning her around. "You alright there Swan?"

Of course it had to be him.

Emma frowned nodding slightly. "I'm fine." She gave him a tight lipped smile. The way his gaze held her's. Something about that look frightened her. "Don't worry about me, worry about your crew." Stepping back she turned and slipped along the wet deck.

Get to the railing. Something chants in her mind. Get to the railing. Get to the railing. Emma squinted through the harsh rain peering around. She'd be damned to see anything in this haze.

Why was it so important?

She reached the railing in time as rain hammered heavily against her. "Damn it." she hissed gripping it. How much longer would she endure this?

As if something seemed to have already answered her question, Emma felt a sudden magnetic pull.

The vessel tilted at her side.

Men yet again slipped, or collided into each other letting out startled cries.

It tugged at her again with such force that in a mere moment Emma lost her footing.

At first everything was a blur, and then she felt her body drop. Looking down she could see the dark, wild, trecherous water closing in on her. Waiting for the impact her eyes closed.

It never came.

Rough fingers wrapped around her hand. Her eyes flickered open glancing up.

The Captain's free hand clung to the ropes whipping above him. He tightened his grip and began to pull her up towards him. "Hang on!"

"I can't!" she cried back wide-eyed. The magnetic force pulled her down again tilting the Jolly Roger further.

"Jones let go!"

He grasped the meaning of her words. "Are you bloody insane?"

Damn pirate was sure to go down with her. Not a good sign.

Emma's feet dangled in the air as she glanced down at the raging sea below. She lifted her head up again gritting her teeth. "If you don't let go everyone will die!"

Something firm gripped her ankle pulling her down towards the raging sea.

She released his grip.

. . .

"No!" He tried to reach out for her. The Jolly Roger jerked him back evening out again. Killian let go of spare ropes. "Bloody hell..."he cursed whipping around. Yanking on a noose he tied it around himself.

"Captain no!" Milah struggled over to him frantically. "You can't! Tis' too dangerous." She gripped his arm.

"Emma's still out there." he answered prying her fingers off him. "She's going to bloody drown."

"So will you!" Milah's voice rose over the rain.

Rain continued to pour heavily over their already soaked bodies.

That was the moment Killian saw the fear of losing him in her eyes. Relaxing his shoulders he gently pulled her cold nimble fingers to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to them. "I'll be alright Milah...I'm a hell of a Captain remember?"

"I can't lose you." Lowering her head, her shoulders droop in defeat.

Killian released her fingers, lifting her chin. "I know." He held her gaze for a moment longer. He then pulled away turning back to the raging sea below.

It never ceased. . . much to his dismay.

He dove in after her.

She gritted her teeth straining to keep above surface. It seemed her lack of effort never paid off as another wave pulled her under again. Emma resurfaced a short moment later gasping for breath. She was pulled under. Yet again.

The dark water grew bottomless through her blurred vision as she pawed around. She knew her wasted effort and energy would go down hill. And for what? Nothing. Her body ached, her muscles ached. Emma needed air. It would only be a matter of time before her whole system shut off completely. She knew.

Below her. Emma caught sight of a dark object. It shifted into something close to a human face. A familiar one. Words chanted over and over in her mind in gibberish. Again. She felt a strong pull. Air immediately left her lungs, shortly replaced with the bittersweet taste of salt water.

Firm arms wrapped around Emma's waist pulling her towards the surface. She never forgot the look of pure scorn and despair before her world went dark.

. . .

It felt cold. Emma Swan could not bloody move, nor hear, nor see. In fact, she was numb. Is this what dying felt like?

"Give her space."

"Captain-"

"I said give her space."

Her eyes flickered open. Everything was a blur. Even the figures crouched down beside her.

Emma tried lifting her head.

"Don't – lass..."

She met the Captain's eyes.

When did they ever get so blue? And that voice. That damn authoritative voice that did things to her.

He was crouching beside her. Eyes narrowed on her chest.

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards her.

Killian stilled.

"Don't let them take her." she hissed.

The Captain tensed. "What?"

"They...can't...take-" Emma stiffened, back arching. Her eyes rolled back. She dropped her head onto the planks of the deck.

. . .

Voices. She heard so many voices. . . . all whispering to her from the darkness. The same rhythm. The same soft tones. They got louder. "Emma." They were saying. "Emma."

Her eyes flickered open. She met blind sunlight. A soft breeze tugged at her. Devastating silence with nothing but her breathing to accompany it. She frowned.

The grass beneath her softly curled at her toes. Emma rolled her head over. Wait grass?

"Welcome. Emma Swan."

Her head shot up. She then immediately stiffened.

It was probable to be the most beautiful thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

Emma stared at the elf; jaw slightly gaped. Clearly male.

Strong jaw, soft cheek bones, thick eyebrows, soft brown eyes, long white hair cascading down his back. He was unusually lean and muscular for an elf. He stood firm and tall, dressed in white breeches, head slightly tilted. A bow was clung to his back. Definitely male.

They studied each other's profiles for a long period of time.

"You're probably wondering who I am, and why you're here." he spoke unusually soft.

"I was beginning to, yeah." Emma stared at his outstretched hand.

She frowned.

"Come." The elf beckoned.

She placed her hand in his own.

Light surrounded them.

Blinding their eyes.

Emma closed her's, feeling the thousands of electric currents pulse through her body. As quick they were to come. They were gone.

Silence occupied her.

"We're here."

She opened her eyes. Emma stared, half bewildered, half astonished. A white alabaster hall towered over them. Bright light peeked through the carved windows. A large, white, crystal chandelier hung above them when they passed.

"What is this place?" Emma breathed. Her eyes traveled around.

"This." The elf nodded. "Is the council of the elders."

They entered a wide palace-like room. She made a mental note to herself. Everything was definitely breakable material.

In the center of the room, stood a large glass ball. Light evaporated from it's center.

She realized she stopped walking. Staring at it, her fingers wrapped tightly around the elf's.

Noticing this, Emma unlaced them dropping her hand to her side.

His mouth twitched upwards.

"Look inside." he said. "What do you see?"

Emma peered in. She stared straight through with narrowed brows, searching.

"I don't see anything."

He lifted his hand, raising her chin. The elf stared at her through his dark lashes.

Emma looked at him slightly flustered.

"Look closely." he whispered.

The light dispersed. Replaced by a cloud of grey.

What she witnessed. What she never imagined. What she hadn't thought about in years. Crawled back to her in utter horror.

"I..." She was turning pale. "I-I...-no." Trembling hands dropped back to her side. She began to back away. "I ca-...I can't."

"You can." insisted the elf.

"No." Emma felt nauseous.

"Emma."

She shook her head.

"Protect it. "

What?

Emma glanced up.

He was gone.

She found herself standing in a different setting. A forest.

What the hell was going on? What was with this dream? Was this even a dream? Emma wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Eerie silence. No birds, no breeze, no animals, no nothing. Everything still. Which wasn't creepy at all or anything.

She looked to the trees . Blind light seeped through their branches.

With a tilt of her head to one side. Her brows narrowed.

It continued to spread. Light ripped through the scenery much to her bewilderment.

"Emma." The voice was slow, painful. "EMMA!"

Emma had to cover her ears.

Ground ripped from underneath her. Trees disappeared. The sky shattered. "Emmmaaaa."

Light pulled her out.

. . .

"She. . ."

"Bloody hell. I know."

"What will we tell her?"

". . . i don't know."

"Captain, she needs to kno-"

"-she will. In time."

Her head ached. Her throat was swollen, all the more, made it harder to swallow.

Emma rolled her head to one side. She was still dreary with sleep. "What happened?" she whispered hoarsely.

Heads snapped up. Blue and brown eyes meeting green.

Oh, right.

"Swan." A brief flicker of emotion left his gaze. He frowned. "You're awake."

"So you've noticed."

The Captain ordered Smee away, telling him brief instructions and to fetch Milah. They shared a look, telling her whatever discussion they were mulling over, wasn't over. The door clicked shut.

He knelt beside her. More specifically the bed she is on, a roll of bandage in one hand.

Emma jolted up at his touch.

"Relax."

Their eyes met.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Helping." He gestured to her ankle.

"I'll do it myself!" Emma answered quickly. Her eyes widened. "Give it to me."

"Swan." Killian stared at her. "Learn to trust someone who knows what he's doing."

She stiffened. Sudden memories of their trip on the beanstalk rushed back to her. Hook telling her to trust him. Her abandoning him. All because of her god damn capability to let people in. To trust them. She was right not to. He had back-stabbed her in the end. They all did.

Emma grew suddenly quiet. Letting him work on her ankle.

He was gentle with binding it.

"Where am I?"

"Captain's quarters."

She raised her brows, and for the first time since she'd awoke, examined the room.

It was small for a Captain's quarters.

She went back to watching him.

He was tense. Moving about with sharp gestures.

Emma noticed the dark circles under his eyes. His hair was messy, sticking out in all directions.

She found something incredibly sexy about that. Though she wouldn't admit that to him. Or to anyone. Ever.

He wasn't sleeping well.

The Captain leaned forward, pressing his lips to her, now, bound ankle.

She jolted again. Stomach fluttering at the gesture.

"There, lass." He leaned back, watching her.

Emma tore her gaze away. She hugged her knees. "Thanks."

The door burst open.

Killian stood up, turning.

Milah and Smee marched in.

"Emma!" the brunette cried, relieved. "You're okay." Milah rushed to her.

She waved her hand in slight gesture. Emma quietly greeted her.

"I've brought you something to eat." She set down a plate of...god knows what.

"Thank you. . . what is it?"

"Eel meat." The other woman confirmed. "I made it myself!"

"Lovely."

Milah clasped her hands. Oblivious. "Can I get you anything else?"

Emma poked at her meal, glancing up. She smiled apologetically. "Actually. . . water would be fine."

"I'll go get it!" Smee was out the door.

How generous.

Silence.

Killian and Milah stole each other glances.

Emma continued poking her meal.

"Emma."

She glanced up.

It was Milah. Her gaze fell to the floor.

"What?"

She felt unsteady under the Captain's stare. Ghost trace of his cold lips on her skin. . . a chill ran down her spine.

"What happened while you were down there?"

Emma slowly froze, growing silent. She set her fork down, and stared at her meal.

". . . Emma."

"I don't know."

"Then how do explain the mysterious pendant around your neck, love?"

Emma looked down, growing tense. A small black stone hung loose around her neck. When the hell did that happen? She closed her eyes. "I . . .don't know."

"We'll be in port in a few days. I need to contact an old ally of mine. He may know of this." Killian turned to leave. "Get some rest."

He and Milah left the cabin.

It went back to being quiet. A silence she didn't mind.

Emma stared at the ceiling as she lay down. She needed answers. She needed to get back to her son.

Protect it.

She fell asleep.

. . .

The next day was eventful.

The Captain ordered her above deck, giving her brief instructions to follow through. They of course, sounded like chores to her. Fun right?

She'd complained about how he was getting back at her by putting her to work.

So. There she was, scrubbing away decks.

It was the only way she'd earn the Captain's alliance. If you can't fight them. Join them right?

To make matters worse. The weather was not any better for these working conditions.

Emma was hell bent on getting this done.

The crew were somewhat concerned as she attacked the wooden planks with her old rag.

Her muscles ached. Her knuckles were sore. Her back hurt. Her shoulders screamed for her to stop.

Everything was a bitch.

"Lassie." Someone placed their hand on her shoulder. "I think that's enough. Yer done with them."

"-No I need to get this littl - oww! Okay!" He ripped it out of her grip.

"Report to Milah."

Emma groaned, rubbing her neck. She stretched, relishing in the warm feeling of sunlight.

Unaware of the Captain's eyes on her.

Picking up her bucket. She stormed over to Milah. "I've swabbed the decks." She dropped it.

Milah turned away from conversation. "Aye, ya did good." She nodded. "You are free."

Emma sighed. "Thank you." She headed to the railing.

The sea remained calm below. Far better than the previous night.

Emma leaned against it, staring out at the horizon. She narrowed her brows.

Thoughts ran through her mind about the face, the dream, and the necklace.

What the hell was going on?

They went to the portal, her mother, never seeing Storybrooke again, Cora-

. . . Cora.

Her shoulders tensed.

If it hadn't been for that witch.

She'd never winded up here. In this mess. In the past. When Captain freaking Hook still didn't exist.

And what of Rumplestiltskin? Had he succeeded in becoming the Dark One? Had he become the Dark One at all?

Everything was screwed. Nothing made sense. She was growing frustrated by the day.

Emma looked at the pendant.

It hadn't changed color.

She looked back up. "I will find you, Henry."

Emma turned, heading down to the crew's quarters.

Nothing would prevent her now.

. . .

From afar, a large, dark, boat appeared out of the midst. It had a wan appearance, and gruesome colors.

A tall, lean, muscular man closed a telescope. They had lost the Jolly Roger for a while. It was pure luck.

"What is it, Cap'n?" Another man asked.

The first looked back at him. Smile gruesome. "We have it. . . and now. Captain Jones will pay."

He hopped off, turning his back. "Call the crew to assemble! We have unfinished business to attend to."

. . .

Somewhere in Storybrooke Maine, Mary-Margaret's head shot up. She cried out.

"Snow!" David rushed to her bedside. "Calm down . . . it's alright. You're safe. Henry's safe."

The pixie-cut woman shook her head in distraught. Her forehead drenched with cold sweat. ". . . no. I saw her! I SAW her David!" Mary-Margaret's eyes were wide.

The prince knelt, entwining their fingers. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Who did you see?"

Her head dropped. "Our daughter. . . Emma. She's alive."


	5. On Stranger Tides

Three months earlier. 

 

The spell lifts and slowly disperses.

She's late. 

“Henry I'm sorry." Frustration crawling through her brain, Regina leans against the tree, worn from the usage of her magic. 

“No.” He stares. “ It had to work! It can't be...”

“It didn't work... they're...”

Henry's face lightens.

Snow hauls herself out. She stares at them looking a little confused at first, and as if remembering where she was, her face hardens, lips tilting down; her eyes are empty, tear-marks staining her pale cheeks.

“Mary-Margaret!” Henry runs straight to her, "Where's my mom? Where's Emma?”

 

She mumbles something in distraught, “Emma,” Snow moans, “Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma. My daughter. My only child.” 

Seeing her gruesome state, Henry knows, knows that his mother-god he doesn't even want to think, so he hugs her. 

And she sobs. 

 

Regina, tall and composed, steps forward. A brief flicker, all it takes, and her face darkens. She flicks her wrist. 

 

The princess slouches growing limp in the boy's arms. 

 

“What did you do?” Henry snaps. 

 

“ I've calmed her down. She'll remain unconscious for several hours or so,” she sighs, looping Snow's arm around her neck. 

 

“Emma... “ he whispers tearfully, "It's true isn't it?"

“No, it's not," Regina finishes with a slight hint of annoyance, "Until we get to the bottom of this, there isn't much I can do, Henry. Let's go find Rumplestiltskin."

. . .

Emma spent days studying books. 

Milah regularly popped in with provided resources. 

 

The Captain resumed his duties on board, spending hours at alone at the helm and avoiding human interaction. Even when forced to speak, he snarled at everything. No one--not even Milah--questioned their Captain's dark mood.

 

Food stocks were maximized, whether rain or sunshine it mattered not, weather conditions prevailed constantly harsh. Sailors often died due to sickness, bad water, rat poisoning, or mold. 

After what happened with Fiesel, she briefly disengaged from her duties. 

Killian retired earlier, unable to hold the tangy meat or beans long enough before he was throwing them up. After a short duel on a late hot afternoon, he collapsed.

Milah was in hysteria.

Flip.

Flip.

Flip. “... Aztec gold.”

Flip. “Syncamids, Sirens, Sea Witches, blue rocks... the hell?”

The door opened, and intrigued Milah's arrival. “How's the research?” 

Emma, snuggled on the floor, skimmed over a sentence. “Fine but... ” She stopped: Her lips pursed. She closed 'Magnolia's secrets'.

“You aren't getting what you need.” Milah finished. 

She sat up. “It's resourceful ...”

“I see a great disturbance in your heart.” The brunette dropped a selected stack.

“That's an understatement. ” Emma bitterly chuckled.

“None of that was yer fault. Everything will be fine. " The woman patted her arm. 

Peering into the woman's eyes, Emma's pulse quickened. For the first time since this whole damn journey started, she saw uncertainty, without doubt, undesirable fear. 

 

"Is it?" she said. " I'm the Savior. I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. I was sent through a magic tree to break some curse cast by the Evil Queen. I didn't know shit until my son showed up on my 28th birthday. Get that? A son I gave up in jail 10 years ago- I wanted the better for him, in regards to growing up as a orphan myself. And suddenly I have parents, a family, who I didn't know about for 28 years! Things were good, really good-until Mr. Gold brought magic back... shit went down from there and god I just want my son back." 

“My condolences. I understand.”

Emma studied her.

“I too lost a son, once. Every since, I have deeply regretted abandoning him.” She mumbled.

“Bae?”

Milah looked curious: Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know that?”

Shit.

“Just a educated guess. Bae popped into my head, for some, particular... reason." 

Well that was half- true. 

“Right, well. I need a favor.” She said. 

Emma sighed, relieved. “What's up?” She stood. 

 

“Killian's ill. I need you there... see to his demands.” She toyed with strands of hair; hence, her avoidance of eye contact. 

"Uh, sure."

“Thank you.” She nodded. 

“Why don't you get some rest?” Emma asked, having noticed her wan appearance.

“Thanks lass,” Milah said. “Alas, I cannot. Some one needs to handle the helm. Come on then.” 

. . .

After Milah's long, exquisite clarification, Emma went her way.

She paused outside his cabin, waited, and knocked. Her gut clenched with unease once she entered.

The temperature dropped a few degrees in Celsius; it had grown chillier. A lone candle ignited the room in soft light. 

She considered his room, the wardrobe, the shelves with books, and the small neatly made bed propped up against the wall. Charts were spread out across the table, mapping out lands and navigation used by the Captain. She placed the tray upon the table and looked over the charts. Her eyes flicked at the elegant writing scribbled at the edge, 'Nous avons trouvé la clé'.

“See something you like?" 

She whirled around, "Captain, I apologize... I didn't mean to look into such private affairs." 

He leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching her. "It matters not. What brings you here?" 

Emma squirms under his heated gaze; he'd tucked himself away from the light, the atmosphere around him cold. 

"Milah made you a meal. She wanted to make sure you-”

He raises his brows. 

"-didn't die of starvation or something." 

The Captain straightens, brushing past the blonde, and goes to his wardrobe. "You can give her my gratitude," He chucks off his coat, vest, and shirt. He faces her, revealing a sun-kissed lean muscled chest, light hair, and faded scars; the number did on him has her imagining his past years more brutal. What lengths did he go through to enforce his position as Captain? How much blood did he shed in order to do so? " How are you with a sword?"  
Emma startles, staggering back. Spiteful to admit, he was easy on the eyes. Turn that man loose and he'd be sex on legs; not that he already wasn't. 

He caught her admiration; eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. He gave her a shit-eating grin, turning his back on her, "Never seen a man naked before, I take it.” 

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she turns away; more annoyed with herself than with him for staring. "Not the case, and I'm excellent with a sword." She huffs, crossing her arms. 

"Good." The Captain shrugs a clean-linen shirt over his shoulders and sits at his table, pulling out an extra chair, "Come."

 

She considers his invitation before plopping herself down across from him. He pulls out his flask, pulling the cork out with his teeth, and offers her the bottle, "Rum?" Emma eyes it, but makes no move to take it. "I didn't replace the drink with poison if that's what you were wondering." He cocks his head. She takes the flask from him and takes a swig before handing it back, her arms crossing. He nurses his rum in silence. Watching him, Emma wonders if conversation is ideal, then speaks, “Why?” She wonders.

He looks at her blankly, raising a single brow in question. 

“Why did you send for me after that night?"

“I believed you a spy for the King's Court. Alas, I've never seen you around these parts before, until.” The Captain falters, his dark eyes rest on her's. 

“Until what?” 

“You should go." 

Before Emma can protest, Smee comes barging in. 

Both rise, startled by his arrival.

“Have you forgotten your place Mr. Smee? Intruding on private affairs is very bad form,” The Captain throws him a scornful look.

He halts, wide eyes darting to Emma then him, "S-sorry sir, Gus needs Emma in the galley. I-if that isn't too much trouble." 

"Of course," She gives the man a brief smile, looking back at Killian, "May I be excused, Captain? Or shall I indulge you with the boring affairs of my world?" 

He dismisses her with a curt nod, calling Smee over for a tete-a-tete. 

…

“Rumplestiltskin!” Regina barged into the imp's pawn shop with her son and a now-present-and-now- conscious Mary-Margaret in tow.

“It appears I've only been throwing my money away when I decided to buy that closed sign.” The man in question said, standing behind the counter, “Ah, Mrs. Blanchard, what a welcoming surprise. It appears you've made it through the well, after all.”

Despite Henry's obligation to prevent his grandmother from going after the man, he didn't; she was handling it surprisingly well for a woman who had lost her child.

“Cora?” He asked.

“Is the reason we're here.” Regina finished, fixing him a hard stare, “she's searching for passage back into Storybrooke, but we can deal with her later. It's Ms. Swan.”

Mr. Gold wondered, “Oh? And what of our lovely sheriff?”

“She didn't return. My mother has her.”

“Then as seeing as that I'm over here—and not over there,” he looked at Mary-Margaret, “I'm afraid I can't help you, so I suggest you do best and wake your precious little prince, and leave my shop, dearies.”

Henry, tugging him back in desperation to see reason, cried, “We have to do something! We can't just leave my mom there with that villain!”

He considered the boy, almost pitying him, “I'm sorry Henry, I really am. Unless you have a supply of magic beans or portals, which I doubt, hidden in that coat of your's, I'm afraid the possibilities of Ms. Swan returning to Storybrooke are very limited. I hope you understand.”

“Rumplestil-” Regina started, irritated.

“-If what you are saying is true, and that your mother seeks passage back into town, then you will have your answers soon enough.”

Mary-Margaret, who was silently observing the conversation, spoke up quietly, “find a way.”

“I'm af-”

“-FIND A WAY!”

They all startled into silence.

After much consideration, he finally nodded, “Very well. I shall do what I can. Just don't expect anything big from me, Mrs. Blanchard.” He left the shop without another word.

“Where's David?”

Regina faced the woman.

Henry answered, “Back here. Follow me.”

Regina moved forward when Snow unconsciously grabbed her arm, “Regina—wait.” The woman startled, then scowling, looked over her shoulder, “What now?"

Snow's expression clouded, brows furrowing together, “There's something you need to know. Cora doesn't have my daughter. She made it so that Emma wouldn't get back to Storybrooke.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

She angrily dashed her tears away, not meeting her eyes, “I remembered.”

She rubbed her temples; bound for a headache, “Where is she now?”

“I don't know,” she said, following Henry.

It is in times like these that she wishes for another curse; sadly, curses were no longer in the cards for her. Regina spews a string of curses, leaving the imp's pawnshop. 

…

Emma scrambles into the galley behind Gus. A line of overheated cabinets filled with old silverware and dish platter, a kitchen stove standing in the corner, and a few sacks of wheat stocked beneath a wooden table.  
"What must I do?"  
The man starts preparing the ingredients for tonight's stew, pointing his wooden spoon at a bin of vegetables on the table, "Clean the carrots."  
She busies herself with the task, cleaning and chopping the carrots in comfortable silence. She sees the crew's cook serve their meals at supper, but doesn't get the chance to talk to him; he disappears before supper. "So how does a guy like you end up in a place like this?"  
Shoulders stiff, he cuts the potatoes in a warranted silence.  
When she's that she won't get an answer out of him, she tries a different approach, "Nice weather we're having."  
He moves tensely, tossing vegetables and ingredients into the pot, in his rush to finish the preparations.  
Definitely not a people-person.  
He frowns at the carrots, finally acknowledging her existence. "What did you do to the carrots?"  
Her eyes drift from the carrots to him. "What's wrong with them?"  
"They're no good," He tosses them away scowling. "Why in the gods did they send a child into the kitchen? Just go. I don't need any assistance."  
This is unbelievable. Somewhere, somehow, she manages to screw up again. She storms out of the galley grumbling a 'Good day, Gus.'

...

He felt the tension build in his shoulders and willed himself to relax. But he could not. The dream was still vivid and very much alive in his mind. He dared not to close his eyes, for if he did the dark eyes would return, reminding him, reminding him of him. And even if the old git was good as dead now, even if the reminder kept himself at ease with his crew, his old wounds still lingered; taunting him of his past. 'Breathe.' He urged. 'Don't let them see you like this.' Just then the fuming blonde stomped onto the decks, making her way toward the railing in all her glory, her golden braided hair swinging behind her. And as if his troubles had shifted, he felt himself easing into the helm. She was a fiery little lass, this Emma Swan, but had he entirely minded? He'd read her like an open book. Much like him she had the same look in her eyes, the look most got when they were left alone; much like him she'd grown up as an orphan. He was drawn to the blonde from the beginning. From the moment his eyes met hers' in the tavern that night; the way they stared into his soul, so beautiful... so lost. But they were quickly dismissed by a presence of another lass. After a while of pleasant conversation, the green eyes were long forgotten. 

He flinched from his thoughts feeling a warm presence beside him. Turning his blue eyes from the horizon, he found Milah standing there with a small smile plastered on her face. "Hello, love." He murmured. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She bit her lip, peeking up at him through her thick lashes, "I've finished my duties and I figured you could use a little company." He smiled, bending only once to press a kiss against her lips, and tucked her into his side. 

He'd been a bloody fool to keep his mind preoccupied with another woman. 

...  
"You can come out now, dearie. There's no one here but us." Mr. Gold said, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. 

Regina stepped out of the shadows, "We've got a problem. Snow told me Ms. Swan was sent through a portal, a time portal." 

The pawnbroker didn't look phased, "And?" He drawled. 

"My mother's coming."


	6. Chapter 6: Part I

Suffocating. She was suffocating. It was hot. Too hot. No room to breathe, no air, no nothing. Voices. Voices all around her. Barely audible for her ears, their speech low and sluggish. And then faces. Warm faces, cold faces, familiar faces, sad faces. They were the faces of her dead beloved friends and lovers. They circled around her, their lips moving, but no words forming. Their dead and cold eyes sought her out, staring, staring straight into her soul. 'Come,' they hissed. 'Come with us, Emma.' Emma stood rooted to her spot, afraid to move, afraid get to close. 'Come. Join us.' They moaned, lingering in the shadows. The shadows parted and revealed her son, his back faced her. “Henry?” 

The small form with slumped shoulders twisted around upon hearing his name, the mop of brown hair falling over his dark eyes, looking frightened. “Mom?” 

She stiffened, her breath catching. 

“Mom!” His face was pale, covered in blood. 

Emma woke up in cold sweat. She couldn't breathe. The air was thick, too thick. It was a dream. It was all a dream. No, not a dream. A nightmare. Or was it a nightmare? She pondered that thought while sitting in the dark and listening to her own heart pound frantically against her chest until it fell into a steady beat, but still, she couldn't breathe. 

Snores drifted through the crew's quarters. 

Needing space, Emma untangled herself from the hammocks and quickly rose, leaving the room for some fresh air. The seas were calm in the night, gentle waves lapped against the wood. It was warm. Her eyes swept across the dark and empty decks, then hugged herself tightly, stepping forward, coming to rest against the railing. The world was silent, held on the verge of a breath. The bright moon peeked out from behind a dark cloud, glowing across the water and casting long flickering shadows along the waves. 

“One would think you've decided to go for a swim.” A deep voice said.

Emma barely spared him a glance, let alone acknowledged his presence; hoping her silence would be enough to send him away, to leave her in peace. But it didn't. Leather crinkling, she felt him settle against the railing beside her. She turned her head, barely, but enough to get a glimpse of him. Besides his bruised lip, his coat and red vest were traded for a black tunic, a few buttons undone, his hair was a mess, a mop of black hair falling over his eyes, the hair one usually had after—oh. Oh. Provided that she could not read his expression, she could tell he was tired by the crease in his shoulders and the lack of pride in his stance.

“What brings you out at this late hour, Swan?” 

He asked.

“Couldn't sleep. ” She admitted softly. 

Judging by the dark look on his eyes, she supposed he was out here for the very same reason. They watched the ocean in silence, both in a weird sort of trance for a moment, until he shifted in his spot and spoke again.

“So tell me of your boy.” 

She would've hesitated, had she not caught the hint of curiosity in his tone. And so she spiraled off the story of her son, her Henry; her voice soft and affectionate. As soon as she started the tale, she ended it.  
They listened to the hymn of the sea for a while. A small, haunting, feminine voice started, and lulled them into a song. 

It had a deep impact on her, making her want to feel things she wished not to feel in a while; sorrow, sorrow for her son, sorrow for the family she never had growing up as an orphan. As she tried to bury those feelings deep within herself, tried to resist them, the voice cried louder. Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes turning on Killian, “What is that?” 

He smiled sadly. “That would be Oana, a siren of the Sea.” The Captain went on, “She's mourning her loss.”

Her eyes dipped to the prime location from where the sound traveled. “What happened?” Emma wondered. 

“She fell in love with a mortal and bore him a child. She thought he would be delighted with the news, but he betrayed her in the end; stealing her love and her son. I'd wager she was the same siren who tried to kill you and gave you that trinket.” Killian finished in a cool, collected tone, intent on watching the horizon. 

She rubbed her thumb over the pendant, feeling the cool stone press into her skin, and shuddered, remembering the soulless blue eyes. What did she want from her? Why did she give her this pendant? What was so special about it? In her earlier dreams, something, or someone, urged her to protect it. Protect what? This? Is this what she was meant to protect? Certainly not the compass, for that was long gone. Dared she utter a word in front of the Captain about her strange dreams? No, perhaps not. She could consult Milah tomorrow. Shaking her thoughts away, she considered broaching their earlier topic—before Smee came in, but before her mouth could form any words, he interrupted her with a 'We will arrive in port at dawn. You should try and get some rest', and went up toward the helm. 

Not at all surprised by the dramatic change in his demeanor, she bid him a goodnight, and left for the crew's quarters. 

 

Just as soon as her head hit the make-shift pillow, she heard stirring above her. Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to come. 

It was centuries, but it only felt like minutes before she was roused and pushed out the door. The crew was lively, murmuring in excitement as they clambered across the decks, doing their duties. The Captain stood tall, hands folded behind his back, barking orders. They'd reached port. 

She'd heard it earlier in the cabin when a few men were scuttling about the room, rousing others. 

The Captain sent her and a few other men on an errand run with a list after they docked, expecting them back before the sun set. They returned somewhere before dark, exhausted, most of the important supplies they'd logged back to the ship weighing them down. Pleased with the stock, he was genuine in letting them rest for the evening. Most of the men left for the tavern after his dismissal; excited to spend the night in the company of a bar wench.

Her arms and legs were sore and her muscles burned in protest as she clambered down the plank. The sun had just set behind a cloud on the horizon, dotting the sky in pinks and oranges. She entered the tavern later, much, much later after she sought out a place to clean herself. The owner of the house with the baths, who was a lady with a kind and generous soul, provided her with a spare pair of trousers and a clean white tunic, claiming that her clothes had far too much dirt on them and needed a proper rinse; she probably pitied her. The tavern was small, but filled with different locals, mostly male and mostly pirate. Captain Jones sat with a few other men in a dark corner, rolling dice and sipping on his beer. Milah sat at his side stroking his neck, face flushed, her head thrown back in laughter. She made her way over to small group of familiar faces at the back, ones she'd acquainted herself with aboard the Jolly Roger; better acquaintances than enemies. Because having a friend meant having to get close, and she did not do close. Her group consisted of two young deckhands, too young to be deckhands at all. Maybe the reason behind her choosing them as her acquaintances, out of the entire crew, was that they reminded her so much of Henry. She was definitely not sentimental. But even the boys eventually grew tired of the night and retired, wishing her a goodnight. And then it was just her. Emma sat with hunched shoulders, nursing her rum and frowning in thought. She felt the buzz of her drink, a warm heat settling into the pit of her stomach. She blinked drowsily, almost missing the greasy old dirt bag sliding into the seat next to her's reeking of a foul smell. 

“Hello poppet. What's a pretty lil' thing like you doin' out by yerself?” He leered, leaning in close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath, tucking a golden curl behind her ear. 

Flinching away from him in disgust, she downed the rest of her rum, giving him a less of an appealing smile, “You're going to regret that.” 

“What? This?” He grinned, his fingers purposely brushing her collarbone, tugging the hem of her shirt. But before he could go any lower, her dagger was pressed against his throat, the blade digging into soft skin. He hissed, recoiling in pain, and scooted out of his chair, fleeing the tavern. 

Yep, she was definitely going to call it a night. But a drunken man to her right had a different idea in mind, for as soon as she scooted out of her chair and made to follow the pervert out of the tavern, he tugged her back, stumbling over a few wooden tables, pulling her in the direction towards the center stage, insisting she'd sing them a shanty. 

She looked alarmed, her eyes widening and pupils dilating, trying to wring her arm out of his grasp. Out of the many things Emma Swan could do, she certainly could not sing even if her life depended on it. But before she could make a complete idiot out of herself, someone grabbed her elbow, tugging her back into the crowd.

Her savior turned her around. 

Gus. 

“Thank you,” She smiled, her shoulders sagging in relief, giving his arm a squeeze. 

“No need to thank me. Now get some rest.” He returned warmly. 

Feeling eyes on her, burning into her skull, she spun on her heel. 

The Captain was brooding in his dark corner, watching her, his flask half drawn toward his lips.  
She shivered. It was warm in the tavern. And yet she shivered. Emma lowered her eyes and hurried out. She was definitely going to call it a night.


	7. Chapter 6: Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geez it's been so long since the last time I worked on this. I'm terribly sorry for the long-term hiatus but I just honestly ran out of ideas, and probably still am out of them, and wasn't sure what I was doing - or wanted- for this fanfic anymore. The beginning was rushed and completely confusing, so I'm awfully sorry for that. I'll try to give this fic another shot and see how that goes, but let's be honest... I don't think it's gonna get far.

Feeling the sweat start to trickle down the nape of her neck, Emma fought back the urge to wipe it off - or, do anything to get rid of it, because then that would require moving. And right now, right at this very moment, she was in no position to actually move. If she did then that meant she automatically lost, and the last thing she needed to do was that or she'd never hear the end of it from anyone. 

It didn't help that the exhaustion from the heat the scorching sun seemed to be sending her way took a toll on her. It most certainly didn't help that the crew found it their best interest to crowd around her breathing down her back.

Still, she wasn't about to give up. Even if her muscles ached in protest causing her whole arm to tremble. She licked the salt off her dry lip furrowing her brow, too engrossed in the arm-lock she currently was into notice her opponent smirk from the other side of the table. Curse this stupid game. Curse her stupid pride. Curse everything. 

"You know." Gus drawled out slowly. Taking this a lot better than the girl on the other side of him. Coming off a little too over-confident. As if he already knew he was going to win. "You could give up right now and I wouldn't tell a soul." He said. Amusement laced in his tone. His elbow was locked on the table not even moving an inch as she tried to twist his arm in one direction. 

She shot him a scandalous stare, sneering at his over confidential stride. "I could say the same for you." She shot back. Her grip grew tighter until her knuckles turned ashen white. Her hand trembled, but she didn't loosen her grip. Neither did he. 

His lip twitched at her comment. "Cute." He told her mockingly, adding in a sly comment to infuriate her more. "But you'll never beat me, girl, or not."

"It's true." Someone in the background voiced their agreement. "Gus is probably one of the best arm-wrestlers on this vessel." 

"We'll see about that." Was all Emma had to say for that matter. 

"Not gonna admit defeat?" He wondered after a minute of silence, his voice coming off a little breathier now. All of his yapping seemed to be wearing him out. Good. 

"Nope." She said dragging the 'p' in the word out to annoy him, revealing no hint of giving up soon, much to his dismay. He tensed under her, then replied. "Good. Neither am I." 

There was a collective sigh from the crew that meant only one thing. They'd been going at it for a while, and the crew had grown bored. The suspense and excitement buzzing between them gone long after the game started. Earlier that day Emma challenged Gus to a game of arm-wrestle after he had jokingly told her 'not to lift heavy objects designated for males' after she offered to help a young boy with the mast when she saw him struggling with it. She'd scowled at him saying 'she was doing just fine' and that she could do the job a hundred times over, and better than him, so he asked her to prove it and... here they were.

Some of the crew members wondered back to their work losing interest in the game. Dexter and Milo among them. "Let me know how the game ends," Milo said to a boy with a black headband sitting on the railing, clapping him on the back as he moved on to the upper decks. 

"You should just give up." It wasn't a question. 

She just snorted at him. "So should you." 

The crew that was left behind looked lost and disoriented, unsure of who to cheer on. Every time it looked as if Emma had the upper hand, they cheered her on. 

Every time Gus had the upper hand, they cheered him on. 

"They've seemed to be going at this for a while." Milah, one of the few that remained, observed from the sideline in fascination. 

"Fascinating." Hook bit in response, voice laced with sarcasm. Not too fond of the game. 

A few cheers rose from the crowd. 

Emma was grinning at Gus in victory, her hand pressed down on his arm on the table, prompting a groan out of him. He grudgingly admitted defeat, giving her a friendly smile of his own. "Good game. No one's ever beaten me before." 

"There's a first for everything." Emma shrugged casually. Gus reached out to grip her hand in a firm handshake, clearly amused by the whole ordeal. There was a glint of respect shining in his dark orbs. "You never fail to surprise me. " He said with a shake of his head slipping his hand out of her's and got up, shoulders firm and straight, seeming to take his loss fairly well, as he moved on through the mass of sympathetic murmurs coming from his crew mates. He stopped on top of the staircase and turned back to add, "Better get going on that mast, either wise I won't be making pumpkin flavored stew tonight." He grinned, and before she could protest, he was gone.

She flinched feeling a clap on her shoulder and craned her neck, peering over at the person who'd been the cause of her temporary pain with a scowl. The muscles in her face unclenched, jaw relaxing, when she saw it was only Milah beaming down at her with a proud smile. "I've ought to admit I haven't seen something so entertaining in a long while. A man bested by a woman." She said humourlessly, laughing at the irony. In the background, crew mates grumbled and lumbered around, reality sinking back in, groaning about their grueling chores they'd voluntarily neglected in order to watch the game instead. Though quickly quieted down under Hook's scrutinizing stare, getting back to work without as much as a sigh. 

Emma, generally in a good mood and also feeling very considerate today, warmed at the older woman's comment offering quick thanks before pitching in to help in the upper deck. True to her word, she got the mast set up without a hitch, stepping back to marvel at her work with little pride before moving onto to helping one of the boys clean the armory. Seeing how pitiful he looked, she crouched down beside him and offered him a sympathetic smile. "Let me." She offered, taking one of the cannon balls from him, which he finally gave up to her after a small protest. They worked side by side in silence, listening to the inaudible chatter of the crew drifting through the hot musky afternoon air in the background. 

There was a soft curse, a clang, and the cannon ball rolling away from the boy across the deck. The boy looked pale, nursing his stomach, face twisting in pain as he rocked back on his heels, sweat breaking across his forehead. She knew what was to come. Carefully placing her ball down, Emma grabbed his elbow helping him up, placing her hand on the small of his back and led him over to the edge of the ship. Her stomach clenched at the horrifying retching sound. After it was over, she rubbed his back soothingly before turning him around to face her, voice lowering down a notch when she saw his tears. "How long?" She asked quietly. He shook his head in refusal to answer. Emma nudged him again muttering under her breath, soft enough for him to hear, but not for others. "Work with me here." "Since yesterday." The boy whimpered. 

"Sorry." He ducked his head in humiliation, refusing to make eye contact with her or with anyone, staring down at his worn boots. He tried to regain his composure, breathing labored. Emma touched his arm gently, letting him know he wasn't in danger. "Hey, no. It's okay." She reassured him. 

"What's going on?" The boy flinched at the voice of their captain and remained stoic still, trying not to show the captain how much he intimidated him. Despite his effort, which Emma could silently pride as very brave, she could see him trembling. Clearly afraid of what the captain might do to him the moment he saw how truly weak he was in such state. 

Emma saw Hook making his way through the gathering crowd of spectators, expression hard. He noticed the boy and immediately his expression softened into concern, brows furrowing together. "Edel." He started, meeting Emma's gaze in question. She shook her head. "He's dehydrated." She explained over Milah breaking the crowd up in the background, frowning at him. "We need to get him out of the sun. Bring his temperature down." To her greatest surprise, the captain seemed to nod in agreement. She didn't dwell on that small simple gesture, saving it for another time, and helped the boy up by looping his arm around her neck.

"We need to get him to a cool room." She told him, eyes daring him to disagree. 

He didn't. 

"My room." He answered, moving aside to let her pass. "Smee!" He then snapped. "Go fetch a basin of water!" Ho-Killian strode across the deck past her, taking the lead, and led them down into his room. Closing the door behind him, he helped her ease Edel onto his bed before he stepped back and pulled out a chair for himself to sit down. "How did this happen." He said, voice dark with worry, hard eyes mostly on her than the boy. Somehow, he'd managed to twist the situation, trying to find her at fault. 

She bit back her annoyance. Emma brushed the boy's bangs out of his eyes, silently telling him it was going to be okay when he sent her a pleading look, afraid to answer. He swallowed thickly, licking his lips, and opened his mouth. "I..." His voice cracked, answer stuck in his throat. He bowed his head in apology, eyes darting to hers before he looked straight at the Captain, eyes growing hollow as he answered again with vigor, answer flat. "I'm sorry sir. I should have told you about my state sooner, or none of this would've ever happened. I know you don't take kindly to those incapable of doing anything, but please. Don't kick me off. I- I have a younger brother back at home who's sick, and this is all I have. P-please." He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath, closing his eyes to stop the tears from coming out. "Don't send me back to him like this. I beg of you." 

Something in his eyes flickered, a brief memory flashing in his blue depths, and then he was turning his head to consider him with a thoughtful gaze. 

It terrified her that she couldn't read him like the way he could read her. For someone who was very good at reading people, to her, he was by far the most closed off. Emma could see the cogs turning in his mind as he thought, and calculated, and planned. That's all he seemed to be doing. 

"I won't hurt you." He finally said, and she heard the truth in his tone. 

Emma squeezed his knee in reassurance, and the boy sighed in relief.

Smee knocked on the cabin's door then, announcing his presence, before coming in with a bowl of water and a rag draped over his shoulder. He passed the bowl and the rag down to Emma, regarding her with a cautious expression as if he hadn't yet trusted her all too entirely, and turned to the Captain. "There's a problem in the loading bay, Captain." He sniffed. 

Killian made a noise in disbelief, uncrossing his arms, looking torn between leaving her alone in his room. 

"Go." She made the decision for him, busying herself with bringing Edel's temperature down. "I won't steal your treasure chest or some shit like that." Emma felt him glaring at the back of her head. 

"Stay here with Edel, and watch her." She heard him tell Smee, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, even after everything... Her ears perked at the sound of a cock of a gun clicking, drawn out of its holster before boots thudded out of the room. Smee shuffled around the room somewhere behind her, trying to find a spot to settle in. She ignored him and continued to dab the rag along the boy's face gently. The boy was still under her touch, cautious brown eyes following her every movement like he was expecting her to jump at him at any moment. "How are you feeling?" She asked him softly.

He started to relax under her gentle caressing, letting out a small breath, leaning into her touch when he was sure she was not going to hurt him. "Tired." He answered honestly, voice sounding small and far off.  
She hummed in understanding, giving him a warm genuine smile. A few wisps of hair fell over his eyes, clinging to his sweaty forehead, so she brushed them away. "You'll be okay." She promised. The boy looked doubtful, but so would she if she had a fever that high. Trust her dramatic ass to over exaggerate a simple cold. "I'll make sure Gus has that broth specially customized just for you." She continued, trying to keep the atmosphere light when seeing his sullen expression, and immediately his face lit up. He paused with a frown, and, very hesitantly, asked. "Would he do that?"


End file.
